


Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

by Ethereal_Extraterrestrail



Category: A Plague Tale: Innocence (Video Game)
Genre: 1985, Alternate Universe - High School, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Homophobia, Mélie and the stupid shit she says is the only real reason this is rated teen, Robert is the dad we ALL need
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29599179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereal_Extraterrestrail/pseuds/Ethereal_Extraterrestrail
Summary: Amicia had appearances to uphold. She was the top of her class, pretty, popular, and rich. Her family was loving, charitable, and religious. What was not to want? But when a girl transferred and made Amicia question everything that she'd deemed right and wrong, things quickly got… complicated.---“It’s… no,” Amicia made a strangled noise. Every inch of her was on fire.Mélie handed back the magazine, chuckling. She’d already seen all she needed to. “Poor thing,” she sighed, lifting Amicia’s chin in an almost motherly fashion. “You’re so sexually frustrated; it’s adorable.”“Stop,” she flushed, pulling her face away from Mélie’s hand, “I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”
Relationships: Melie/Amicia de Rune
Comments: 60
Kudos: 17





	1. off-limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to one of my lovely readers and commenters for letting me steal the idea of an 80s AU, along with the basic outline of it! Also, the help with figuring out Mélie’s outfits and general vibe was greatly appreciated. She helped a lot, and I would certainly gift this to her, but she doesn't have an account. If she gets one, I'll change it for sure so that it's a gift.

“Amicia!” She slammed her locker shut, whipping around. “Amicia,” Sabrina hooked her arm around her’s, “what do you think of these jelly bracelets?” 

She lifted her free arm, displaying her wrist for Amicia. A dozen or so thin, neon-colored bracelets decorated her hand. Pinks, yellows, purples, and greens, all jumbled together. Amicia’s nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Erm,” she looked down at her penny loafers. “Would honesty be preferred?”

“Amicia” Sabrina lifted her chin firmly, looking her in the eyes, “be honest so I don’t make a fool of myself.”

She swallowed, pulling her chin out of Sabrina’s hand. “They’re dreadfully tacky and don’t match your outfit.”

Sabrina smiled sweetly at her and turned to Sophie who was standing by, clutching a neon pink binder over her chest. “You lied to me. They _are_ ugly.”

“I like them,” Sophie muttered, plucking at her own wrist covered by the bright bands. “They’re all the rage in America and Britain.”

“We’re not _in_ America or Britain,” Sabrina explained, as though Sophie were Hugo’s age. “So they’re a no.”

Sophie began taking them off, frowning. “Actually,” Amicia blurted out, “they look nice on Soph because they match her outfit. Just not with your outfit, Sabrina. Maybe another one.”

Sophie lit up, and Sabrina smiled slightly. “Okay. Amicia will help us pick out an outfit they’ll work with after school today when we go to the mall.” Sabrina took off her bracelets, handing them to Sophie to wear.

“I can’t come,” Amicia realized. “I’m watching Hugo.”

Sophie put on the bracelets, clearly disappointed. “Can’t your mum?”

“She works; you guys know this.”

“Are you coming to the sleepover?” Sabrina pouted.

“I’ll see.”

They began walking to their first period: typing class. Sabrina and Sophie complained it wouldn’t be the same without her, and Amicia simply laughed, saying she had no choice. They sat in their seats, and Amicia plugged in the cord to her typewriter. Whoever had her seat the last period of the day always unplugged it, leaving her to plug it back in.

The bell rang, and their complaints that Amicia wouldn’t be there silenced.

“Good morning class,” Mr. Thomas sighed wearily, walking to the front of the room. “I have your tests to give back. The class average was thirty-nine words per minute. Some of you need practice touch-typing.” He turned to Amicia, “Some of you do not. Congratulations to Amicia and Lucas who reached seventy words per minute without error.” He handed Lucas’s test back and then made his way back a few rows to hand Amicia’s her’s. 

Sabrina leaned over and hissed, “You got a gold star.” 

Amicia looked down, disgusted. Mr. Thomas used golden star stickers for some of the typing tests their first week, but once he’d run out, he began using stamps. He would lick the back of them and stick it on the paper, too cheap to use glue. It left a ring of spit around it, easy to see.

“Grody to the max,” she hissed back, carefully avoiding handing the paper near the star.

“Grody to the max,” Sabrina agreed.

The rest of the class was simple typing drills. _The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog_ had been drilled into her head at this point, but Mr. Thomas didn’t seem to care. Some of the class was struggling, and therefore she must struggle with them. It was uneventful and terribly boring until about halfway through class. There was a gentle knock at the door, and another teacher walked in, escorting a girl.

Normally Amicia didn’t notice much of what people looked like. But she was bored, so like the rest of the class, she clung to the much-needed distraction and analyzed her carefully. The girl was wearing Doc Martens with neon green-colored laces. Whoever thought _that_ was a good idea was insane, yet it somehow worked. Her black jeans were baggy, and as her mother might describe, “quite distressed”. Her red hair was tied back into a messy ponytail. Messy to the point that Amicia couldn’t tell if absolutely no effort had been made, or if too much effort had been made to make it look that way purposefully. 

The teachers spoke in the back in hushed whispers, and Amicia continued to study her. She was wearing a loose _Téléphone_ band t-shirt. Amicia hated the group, but the impression she had already gotten from this girl was that it was something she would _definitely_ like. 

The other teacher left the class, but the girl remained, Mr. Thomas placing a hand on her shoulder.

“This is Mélie Cappon. She moved her from Picardy, and it’s her first day, so make her feel welcome.” 

She lifted her hand in an awkward half-wave, offering them all a faint hint of a smile. Oddly endearing.

“Who transfers two weeks into the year on a Friday?” Sophie whispered, leaning over Amicia to see her better. Amicia shrugged.

The teacher led her to a seat in the front of the class next to Lucas, and when she sat down, Sabrina snickered, “Did you see her scar?”

“Huh?” 

Amicia looked over at Mélie. Her left cheek was facing her, and sure enough, if she squinted just right, she could make out a scar on her cheek. It was faint, practically a hairline scar, and barely nicked into her upper lip; hardly noticeable. So of course, Sabrina noticed. 

“Grody to the max,” Sophie hissed. 

Amicia turned to Sabrina. “You just told us yesterday about how guys with scars are hot.”

“ _Guys_ , Amicia. _Guys_.” Sabrina sighed wearily, massaging her temples in a dramatic display. “There’s a difference.”

“What _is_ the difference?”

“The difference is I’m not a fag,” Sabrina rolled her eyes. 

“Guys it’s hot, girls it’s not,” Sophie smiled at Amicia sympathetically. “Make sense?”

“Sure.” Amicia shrugged.

She looked up again, and Mélie turned around, looking at her. Amicia had been caught staring. But Mélie just smiled shyly, giving another small wave. Amicia frowned back and looked down at the keys of her typewriter.

\---

Language Arts was hell. Well, it always was, but it was even worse. The majority of her friends were in that class, which was a plus, but Mr. Aude had some strange ideologies, and they were learning about a terribly depressing topic; the Holocaust. 

Oh, and upon walking into class after heading to the bathroom, she saw that Mélie would be seated right behind her.

“So really, if all of the Jews had fought back, there was no way the Nazis would have been able to succeed in their plan,” Sabrina was explaining from the front of the class, holding neat little flashcards. The teacher was nodding along eagerly, taking notes with his clipboard. “The whole tragedy may have been avoided and-“

“Excuse me,” Mélie raised her hand, and the class turned to look at her. “Excuse me.”

Sabrina stopped talking, and Mr. Aude sighed, looking down at his role to find her name. “Yes, Miss Cappon?” He turned to Sabrina, “Sabrina, you may be seated. Your report was excellent.”

Mélie waited for Sabrina to sit down before starting, “What Sabrina is saying insinuates that we should be blaming the victims for this tragedy. And not only that, but it’s not even logical.” Sabrina whipped around, glaring, but Mélie ignored her and continued calmly, “Hitler strategically disarmed the citizens of Germany. So even _if_ all of the Jews were able to organize and rally together, the German soldiers would have had superior weapons. They would have been terminated quickly. Similar to how slave revolts rarely succeeded because the military could easily come in and overpower everyone.”

Mélie paused to take a breath, and the class was silent. Sabrina and her friends were glaring, the teacher looked bemused, and a few kids seemed to agree. Amicia was privately one of them. Lucas and Rodric, along with a few other students Amicia didn’t know, were nodding eagerly. 

While Mélie was paused, Sabrina found her voice and retorted, “Well, some Jews resisted, and they were able to win. Like the Sobibor uprising where they killed eleven SS guards and police auxiliaries.”

Mélie frowned. “Yeah, but only three hundred escaped, and one hundred of them were recaptured and _shot_. In Auschwitz, they attempted rebellion after learning they were going to be killed. But the Germans crushed the revolt and murdered almost all of the seven hundred prisoners involved.”

Sabrina looked even more upset. She crossed her arms, “So they shouldn’t have fought back?”

“If you were in their place, is that a risk you would take?” Sabrina just stared, and Mélie sat up and said, “No really? Would you revolt? Would _any_ of you?” She was addressing the class now, genuinely waiting for a response. When no one responded, Mélie slouched back down in her seat. “That’s what I thought. I’m not saying the best option for them was to go blindly like lambs to the slaughter. I’m just asking you to maybe hold the foreign global powers who were aware of the situation a little more responsible.” Mélie stopped and grumbled the last part so that only a few kids around her could hear, “I’m asking you to use your brains and _think_.”

“Interesting points,” Mr. Aude told her, not particularly impressed. “Thank you for sharing.”

Mélie just shrugged. She and Sabrina were silent, the latter bristling, and the other seemingly uninterested now. 

Amicia turned to her reading, carefully annotating each page. She whipped around after a few minutes when she heard something metal hit the desk behind her. Mélie was casually flipping a switchblade. Sabrina was staring in almost comical horror, and a few other kids were shooting each other the _is that allowed?_ look. The teacher was oblivious, grading papers. Amicia turned back around, and Sabrina passed her a note.

_She’s trouble_

Amicia pocketed it and nodded vigorously.

\---

“There’s two of them,” Amicia was informed later at lunch by Sophie. “Alexandre told me.”

She chewed and swallowed the bite of salad she had taken. “Two of whom?” Amicia placed down her fork on top of her napkin.

“That Mélie girl has a twin brother.”

“Oh,” Amicia shrugged.“Is he cute?”

“ _I_ think so, but he’s off-limits.”

“Why?” Amicia raised an eyebrow. 

“Still scoping him out, and his sis seems to be a real freak,” the rest of the group sat down as they talked, and Amicia was sandwiched awkwardly between Sabrina and Isabella. “She’s probably a witch, who knows. But Arthur may have a chance.”

“Arthur?”

“His twin, dummy,” Sabrina scoffed, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap “Are you even listening?”

“She didn’t say his name,” Amicia defended, piercing her salad with her fork before shoving it in her mouth.

“But seriously, did you _see_ her scar?” Sophie tittered, sitting up on the table, her legs crossed. “Gross.”

Everyone just nodded, laughing, and Amicia felt somewhat flabbergasted. “It’s so small, hardly noticeable. Pick on something else about her.” She took a sip of water, and Isabella nudged her.

“Lighten up, will ya? It’s still ugly, right?”

Amicia forced a reluctant chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Christophe parroted her obnoxiously. He leaned across the table and said in a much too loud voice, “Izzie’s right, lighten up.”

“Fine. She’s ugly, satisfied?”

“And an insufferable know-it-all who brings a knife to school,” Sabrina muttered, straightening her headband. “Who brings a knife to school that isn’t like… a guy?”

“She brought up some good points in language arts,” Amicia pointed out cautiously, electing to ignore the comments about the switchblade.

“Please don’t tell me you _agreed_ ,” Isabella laughed, almost falling back in her seat.

“I didn’t,” Amicia mumbled. (Even though she completely did.)

Attention quickly shifted from the twins when Sophie began passing out the jelly bracelets. 

“Bodacious,” Isabella grinned at them. 

And once Amicia had ‘agreed’, even the boys took some to wear. The girls laughed and flirted with the guys who sat with them, and Amicia joined in occasionally, although her heart wasn’t completely in it.

When Sophie tentatively grabbed her wrist and slipped a few on, Amicia could hardly protest. She hadn’t changed her mind; they _were_ tacky, ugly, and anything _but_ bodacious, but she couldn’t complain.

Instead, she stood up. “I’ve gotta motor to the washroom,” Amicia picked up her bag, “See you guys.”

“Want us to come?” Isabella offered, but Amicia was already a few paces away.

“I’m good,” she waved them off. 

Amicia made her way to the bathroom, running her hands under the tap for a few seconds. She grabbed a towel from the dispenser, folding it twice before carefully drying her hands. She tossed it in the trash and stood in front of the mirror. Her blouse had become untucked, so she pulled at the pleated waistband of her tan skirt and tucked it back in. She was beginning to straighten out her hair when Mélie walked into the bathroom. 

She nodded her head in polite acknowledgment to Amicia, smiling slightly. Amicia didn’t nod back, electing to ignore her completely while she fixed her hair. Mélie stood there awkwardly until Amicia _couldn’t_ ignore her.

“What do you want?” Amicia mumbled, a bobby pin between her teeth.

Mélie gestured to the space in front of her. “Can you share the mirror?”

Amicia bristled and scooted aside, offering Mélie some room. Mélie untied her hair and retired it, pulling a few strands loose, and confirming Amicia’s suspicions that she had purposely made it messy. She reached under the neckline of her shirt, adjusting her bra strap with an obnoxiously loud snap. When she noticed Amicia watching, Mélie looked at her wrist.

“What are those grisly things on your wrist?” she chuckled, staring at the jelly bracelets.

Amicia frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “What are those dreadful things on your shoes?”

Mélie grinned and looked down at her feet, kicking one foot out proudly. “Like my stylish kicks?” she teased. “I bought new shoelaces for them.”

“Pft,” Amicia snorted, and she immediately realized what an embarrassing noise it was. She covered her mouth until she’d regained herself. “No, I don’t like them, and why would you replace it with _that_ color?”

“Same color as some of your bracelets,” Mélie pointed out, shrugging. “And you never answered my question. What _are_ those?”

“Jelly bracelets. My friend bought bunches.” When Mélie just looked confused, Amicia explained like it was common information that she most certainly hadn’t learned just mere hours ago, “An American fad. Don’t you know anything?”

“Interesting,” Mélie smiled. “And no, I don’t know anything. Can I have some?”

Amicia looked down at her wrist and shrugged. If it meant she could leave and rid herself of the horrible things, why not? Mélie held out her hand when Amicia nodded. She already had a strange assortment of bracelets and silver chains, but Amicia slid all of the jelly bracelets on. 

“Wow,” Mélie held out her wrist, “I’m practically a socialite now.”

“Practically is a bit strong.”

“Is this what it feels like to be part of high society?” She was clearly mocking Amicia, her tone drenched in sarcasm. It was infuriating.

“Whatever,” Amicia scoffed, turning to go.

“Ami!” Sabrina called from the hallway. “Ami, you coming?”

Amicia frowned, shouting back, “I’m coming.” When she was Mélie’s amused expression, she added, “Don’t call me Ami.”

“Amicia,” Sabrina stepped into her bathroom, her nose wrinkling when she saw Mélie. “What are you doing with _her_?” Her voice was dripping with clear disdain, as though Mélie couldn’t hear her.

“Freshening up,” Amicia shrugged. Sabrina looked Mélie up and down.

“Where’d you get those?” She narrowed her eyes at Mélie’s wrist.

Her lips turned up snarkily. “Found them up your ass,” Mélie told her coolly, but she was holding her wrist defensively. 

Sabrina took Amicia’s wrist in her hand. “You took them from Amicia. Give them back, _now_.”

“She actually gave them to me,” Mélie rolled her eyes, “So go piss up a flagpole.”

Sabrina harrumphed, whipping around. “We’re going Amicia, come on.”

She practically dragged her from the bathroom and into the hall where Sophie was waiting. Sophie was staring at them, wide-eyed. She probably heard that whole conversation.

“Listen to me,” Sabrina gripped Amicia’s shoulders intently, wrinkling her sleeves once they had gotten further away from the bathrooms. “We do not talk to or associate with that freak, alright?”

Amicia nodded and swallowed. “I already didn’t like her.”

“Well, don’t talk to her,” Sophie ordered. “She’s a scar on the face of our school.”

“Scar?” Amicia laughed. She couldn’t help but think they were being a little… _dramatic._

“Yes,” Sabrina released her grip on her. _“_ Mélie Cappon is _off-limits_ , and by proxy, her brother.”

“Fine.”

“Say it,” Sabrina ordered.

Amicia rolled her eyes. “Mélie Cappon is off-limits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferris Bueller's Day Off was playing while I wrote this. Cinematic masterpiece and very 80s.


	2. Centerfold

It was Saturday evening, and Sophie, Sabrina, and Amicia were huddled up on Amicia’s bed, the rotary phone pulled as far from the wall as the plug allowed. Amicia was lucky enough to have her own private landline; Sophie and Sabrina both had to share with their sisters. 

Sophie was reading Sabrina numbers from the phonebook while she crimped Amicia’s hair with her crimping wand, and Sabrina would call, making some wildly outlandish claims. Most people realized it was a prank and oftentimes would play along, but others immediately hung up.

“Oh, we’ve done this one before,” Amicia told them when Sabrina began reading the number aloud. “It’s Lucas, the kid in our typing class.”

Sabrina smiled wickedly. “Perfect.”

It rang three times before he answered. “Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Who is this?”

Sabrina smiled, twisting the cord around her finger. “What do you mean? You called me!”

“You called me,” he informed her calmly. 

“I’m hanging up,” Sabrina warned.

“Have a lovely day.”

She hung up and immediately began redialing the number. He answered almost immediately and she let out quickly, “Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Who is this?” Sabrina asked.

“You called me!” Lucas practically shouted, his voice annoyed. “Stop please.” He hung up.

“One more time,” Sophie giggled. Amicia didn’t find it particularly amusing but nodded anyway. When she did so, Sophie accidentally tugged on her hair. 

“Sorry,” Sophie hissed, but Sabrina shushed her.

“Hello?” Sabrina asked as soon as he picked up.

“Listen,” Lucas sighed, “I know this is some kind of a juvenile prank. Please stop.” The line went dead.

Sabrina frowned. “He’s no fun.”

”I warned you,” Amicia reminded her. 

“Done!” Sophie declared handing Amicia a mirror.

Amicia ran her fingers through her hair, laughing. It didn’t look _terrible,_ and it looked like how most other girls did their hair. It just felt… juvenile, and Amicia was grateful she would be washing her hair before she saw anyone next. 

Amicia placed the mirror on her bed and reached over, grabbing the phone book. “Let’s try this one, and give Soph a chance to do it.”

Sabrina sighed dramatically and handed Sophie the phone. Amicia read the phone number, Sophie dialed, and they listened in anticipation as it rang.

“Hello?”

Sophie inhaled deeply and then scrunched up her face, crying. “I love you and I always will,” she rambled, fake sobbing. “After last night, well, I realized I was wrong. And I’m sorry. But I want you… no, I _need_ you, babe.”

“Ahem,” the boy on the other end of the line cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think you have the wrong number, miss. This is Rodric Baker.” Amicia and Sabrina bit their palms, trying not to laugh, and Sophie was wheezing, although it sounded like crying. 

“Rodric Baker,” she shrieked, her face red from muffled laughter, “how many girls do you have fawning over you if you don’t even know who this is?” Sophie hissed into the speaker, “If this is how it’s gonna be, I change my mind. We _are_ over.”

“What the fuck,” he murmured. His voice was the epitome of ‘I’m too tired for this'. “Ummm, I’m sorry I guess,” Rodric exhaled wearily. “Goodbye.”

“Don’t goodbye me, asshole! I goodbye you!” She slammed the receiver down and then burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“I could practically see his face,” Amicia cackled, clutching her sides. “Poor guy.”

Sabrina smiled. “Indeed. And your crying was fantastic.” She pulled a small slip of paper from her pocket. “But I have a special call we are making next.”

Amicia raised an eyebrow. They usually just dialed random numbers from the phonebook or one of their friends whose number they already had memorized. Special calls were rare.

“To whom?”

Sabrina grinned this time, unfolding it carefully. “Mélie Cappon.”

Amicia frowned. The troubled girl who was off-limits. “How’d you get her number?”

Sabrina giggled. “I’ll never tell,” she taunted.

Sophie took the bait and begged, “No please, tell us.”

“Fine,” she let out dramatically, “I got it from her brother. But I’m not sure what we are going to say.”

"What part of _he's off-limits_ ," Amicia grumbled, but Sabrina pretended not to hear.

“I bet she’s a witch,” Sophie told them seriously. “We could do something witchy.”

Amicia giggled. “I have an idea.” She took the phone from Sabrina, sticking her pencil eraser in the dial. “What’s the number?”

“Three-five-five.”

Amicia frowned. “I know our area code, Sophie.”

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled. “Erm, four-eight-three,” Sophie watched Amicia carefully dial before finishing, “three-two-seven-seven.” 

Amicia dialed and waited until she heard it ringing before holding it up to her ear. 

“Hello?”

Amicia grinned, mouthing, _it’s her._ She cleared her throat and said in a chirpy, customer service tone, “Rachel’s crystals; you get charged and so do your crystals. What kind of witchcraft are you up to today?”

Mélie hummed, and Sophie and Sabrina burst into a fit of giggles that they muffled with pillows. “I’m interested in something,” Mélie began slowly, carefully enunciating, “that could possibly annihilate the patriarchy.”

Amicia frowned, and Sabrina whispered, “Is this girl serious?”

Amicia held her fingers up to her lips and shrugged. “Red Tiger’s Eye could help with that,” she suggested. She knew nothing about crystals, but she kind of doubted Mélie did either. She couldn’t _actually_ be a witch.

Mélie snorted into the microphone. “The horny crystal? Hardly.”

“Erm,” Amicia paused, Sabrina and Sophie just looking at each other. “I’m sorry, but what?”

“That one gives you a higher libido by sending energies to the lower half of the body,” she explained like it was common information. “Doubt it will help end sexism, though it will help with other things that start with sex.” 

Amicia flushed deeply. Why and how did Mélie know this? 

Sophie could see Amicia’s confusion and how her fake costumer service persona was dying, so she took the phone from her and amended, “I’m not certain if we have anything that will help with your specific goal. Anything else in mind?”

“Ugh,” Mélie sighed, “I moved to this new school and I’ve been working on some curses for some rather arrogant rich kids, but I just ran out of Ague Weed and nightshade. I suppose I could also restock on some of my luck spell stuff, and just other various supplies.”

Amicia grabbed the phone back. “We just do crystals,” she laughed. “Quartz and such.”

It was silent, and Amicia thought she might have hung up. Finally, someone cleared their throat. 

“Listen,” Mélie sighed into the speaker, “this is super cute and all, and honestly, I’m a little flattered that you would call me, but maybe don’t prank call people advertising a product you clearly know nothing about?”

Amicia stammered for a moment.

“I recommend you hang up before I find a way to curse you through the phone. Bye, sweetie.”

She hung up, and Amicia pulled the phone away from her ear, just staring at it.

“What the actual fuck was that?” Sabrina whispered.

Sophie stared wide-eyed. “I _told_ you she’s a witch.”

\---

Amicia woke up before her alarm Monday morning. It was that feeling of waking up from a dead sleep in a panic that she hadn’t done an important homework assignment. She sat up, racking her brain. Nothing came to mind, other than two phrases.

 _Mélie Cappon_ and _off-limits._

Amicia just hoped she wouldn’t be in any of her classes that day as well. Just seeing her in Typing and Language Arts were enough.

As she put on her pastel pink sweater and braided a matching ribbon in her hair, she couldn’t help but think about Sophie’s claims to Mélie being a witch.

“It can’t be true, right?” she murmured to her reflection while she put on mascara. “Witches are ugly and evil. Mélie doesn’t seem inherently evil, nor ugly…”

Just for precaution, she grabbed her cross necklace, securing it around her neck.

\---

Just her luck, her first period of the day, Mélie was already seated in the back at Amicia’s table. Amicia stopped in the doorway when she saw her. That was _her_ table. There was an odd number of students in the class, so Amicia was without a deskmate. Which was how she _liked_ it.

Mélie had her back turned to her, and she was wearing a dark denim jacket covered in patches. But the one Amicia immediately noticed was a pentagram.

A _pentagram_.

Miss DuPont saw her in the doorway and lit up. “Amicia de Rune,” Miss DuPont smiled, “This is Mélie Cappon. We now have an even number of students, so she’s your table partner, and you can assist each other with math.”

Amicia nodded, forced herself into the class, and into her seat beside Mélie.

Mélie smiled when she saw her. She was wearing the stupid jelly bracelets. “Nice to meet you, Amicia de Rune.”

“Stop,” Amicia frowned, already having none of her mocking tone. “It’s just Amicia, and you already know me.”

“Oh right,” Mélie smirked, “Ami.”

“Amicia,” she repeated dryly.

“Princess, take it or leave it.”

Amicia just harrumphed. “Why are you still wearing those? They’re ghastly.”

“Did you want them back?”

“No, I would have flushed them down the toilet by now.”

“Well,” Mélie leaned forward and smiled, “I like them.”

“They’re terrible.”

Mélie’s eyes flickered down to Amicia’s chest, her gaze lingering on Amicia’s cross necklace. Her eyes dissected the cross, and Amicia reached up and clutched it protectively.

“Okay, I agree they’re terrible,” she hissed, “Wanna know the truth?”

Amicia swallowed and nodded.

Mélie leaned in close, like she was about to divulge in some delicious secret. She whispered into her ear, “I need to wear a possession of yours for at least a week in order for the curse I put on you to work properly.”

Amicia scooted as far away as possible, glowering. “Not funny.”

Mélie shrugged innocently. “Never said it was supposed to be, princess.”

\---

“Amicia,” Christophe was grinning, standing next to her locker Tuesday morning. She hadn’t seen him at all on Monday, as he was out “sick”.

“Chris,” she greeted him with a nod.

“How was your weekend?”

“Swell.”

He laughed heartily. “What is it, the fifties?”

“Yes way,” she laughed back. “The fifties for sure. How was your weekend?”

“Radical.” 

They walked down the hall, Christophe asking about her weekend in great detail, and her briefly responding.

“Christophe Moreau, please come down to the attendance office,” blared over the speakers.

He paled and grabbed something from his backpack’s back pocket, rambling, “Imma leave this with you, Amicia.”

“Christophe, _no,_ ” Amicia begged. His face said everything; she did _not_ want whatever that was.

He unzipped her bag, shoving whatever it was inside. “They’re gonna check my bag, I can’t have this.”

“Well, _I_ don’t want it!”

He zipped up her backpack hastily. “Just get rid of it next chance you have. Sorry, Amicia.” He sprinted down the hall before Amicia could stop him, or even ask what it was. 

Cool dread filled her stomach. She had no idea what he had put in her bag. Drugs? A gun? An animal? Her stomach churned.

Amicia tried to maintain a neutral expression, making her way to the bathrooms while the halls rapidly cleared. She would rather be late to typing than have whatever he put in fall from her bag at any point of the day.

Amicia waited until the few girls tittering in front of the mirror had left before walking into a stall, shutting it behind her, and shuffling through her backpack. Shoved in between her binders was a magazine, crinkled and torn from being forced into her bag. She pulled it free and nearly dropped it on the floor.

It was the October edition of Playboy. The scantily clad woman on the cover was enough to make her mental alarms blare, her heart beating at an alarmingly quick pace. Her stomach twisted in a weird, indescribable way that wasn’t quite good or bad. She just didn’t even want to _imagine_ what pictures might have been inside. She didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if she was caught with this in her possession. 

Amicia shut her eyes, lolling her head back and muttering a prayer. She clutched her cross necklace, swallowed, and frowned. Finally, she worked up the courage to open her eyes.

It was still there, no amount of praying for a miracle would make it disappear, but at least she felt more collected. Amicia zipped her backpack, rolled up the magazine, and headed out of the stall to bury it in the trash under paper towels.

She turned out of the stall and almost dropped the folded magazine. Mélie was sitting on the counter, legs apart (sitting “like a man” her mother might say), filing her nails casually. She was wearing fishnets under loose denim shorts, a black tank top, and an oversized patched denim jacket. The one with the pentagram patch. Mélie was intent on her nails, but she looked up when the stall creaked and Amicia gasped audibly.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were in there.” She crossed one leg over the other.

Amicia just nodded, bringing her hand with the rolled-up magazine behind her back. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Most people don’t,” she looked up again, noticing Amicia’s hand behind her back. She grinned, suddenly interested. Dropping her nail file on the sink, she jumped off the counter, strolling over to Amicia. “Whatcha got there?”

“None of your business,” Amicia retorted, her cheeks burning.

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Show me.” She held out her hand. The one still covered in stupid jelly bracelets.

When Amicia tried to dodge her, she pulled Amicia’s arm from behind her back, grabbing the magazine forcefully. 

“Aha!” she declared triumphantly, opening it without looking away from Amicia. “Let’s see what’s so private, why don’t we?”

Mélie finally looked down at the magazine, and her eyes went wide. She froze, her mouth open slightly. Mélie looked up at Amicia’s burning face, down at the magazine, and back up at Amicia. 

“Holy shit,” she whistled, her eyes wide. Mélie flipped through a few more pages, taking it _all_ in. “Amicia de Rune, in the school bathrooms, with a Playboy.” She was practically singing. “Oh wow, this is definitely _something._ ”

“It’s… no,” Amicia made a strangled noise. Every inch of her was on fire.

Mélie handed back the magazine, chuckling. She’d already seen all she needed to. “Poor thing,” she sighed, lifting Amicia’s chin in an almost motherly fashion. “You’re so sexually frustrated; it’s adorable.”

“Stop,” she flushed, pulling her face away from Mélie’s hand, “I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”

“Hey,” Mélie threw her hands up in the air in surrender, “I’m not the one in the bathroom with a Playboy. I’m just trying to help you out.”

“It’s not mine!” Amicia insisted, clutching it to the point where it began to crinkle. “Christophe put it in there, and I didn’t have a chance to stop him.”

“Then you won’t mind me taking it.” Mélie pried it from her hands before walking to the door.

“And what are _you_ doing with it?”

Mélie dropped it in the trash can, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “Tossing it. I’m all for liberating the female form, but these are created solely to appeal to the male fantasy, giving men unrealistic expectations and women eating disorders.”

Amicia swallowed, frowning. She was relieved it was gone but annoyed with Mélie having to be part of its disposal.

“Hey, if you want it back, just say the word,” Mélie teased, lingering by the trash. “Not my thing, but I _totally_ understand if it’s _your_ thing.”

“I don’t want it back.”

Mélie smiled, walking over to Amicia. She brought her face to Amicia’s ear and practically purred, “Good girl.”

With that, her stomach twisted again in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasant or unpleasant. Just… weird. Amicia turned crimson and looked down at the tile.

“Actually, do you have a lighter?”

Mélie looked surprised yet again, her eyebrows raising behind her unkept fringe. “Yeah. You smoke?”

Amicia shook her head and told Mélie firmly, “I want you to burn it.”

Mélie grinned, walking over to the trash. She removed the magazine and walked to the sink. Mélie flicked the lighter twice, waiting until the magazine caught flame. Once it was crackling, Amicia turned and left the bathroom.

\---

When Mélie walked into class fifteen minutes later, she had the _audacity_ to wink at Amicia.

What a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this while watching Can't Buy Me Love. Amazing fake dating movie, and very very 80s.


	3. your god can't save you from me

Amicia looked down at the shopping list Béatrice had made, biting her lower lip. She couldn’t find the basil for the life of her. It wasn’t with the spices or packaged goods, where it normally was. Even with Hugo sitting in the cart, “peeling his eyeballs” for it, their search was futile. 

She hated shopping for Béatrice. It wasn’t inherently terrible, but when a product was nearly impossible to find, she was left with only a few choices. One, keep looking until she found it. Two, leave the shop without the product. Or three, work up the courage and ask an employee where it was. She hated option three.

Amicia pushed Hugo around in the cart for a while, scanning everywhere for the product. When she had passed by the Care Bears and Transformers for the third time, she realized it was no good; she would have to ask. She squelched her fear and approached an employee.

She double-checked that he was wearing the employee dress code-approved red shirt to avoid asking another shopper, as she had embarrassingly done before. He was restocking the higher shelves with glitter glue, completely oblivious to her. 

“Hi,” she let out awkwardly, stopping the cart behind him.

He turned around and offered her a faint smile, giving her an awkward half-wave. Familiar and endearing. “Hi.”

Hugo stood up in the cart, grinning. “Hey!” He reached his arms out for the employee, swaying slightly. 

“Hugo, sit!” Amicia ordered, rushing around the cart to push him back. “That’s dangerous, you know not to do that.”

“Sorry, Amicia,” Hugo giggled, not particularly concerned.

“Oh, Amicia?” the boy let out, seeming to recognize her name.

His face and voice didn’t quite register, so she looked down at his name tag. It read: _Hi, my name is Arthur_. _How can I help you?_ Amicia tried not to laugh when she looked back up and recognized his red hair and blue eyes. 

Well, the saying _trouble comes in twos_ seemed rather applicable to her life. 

“Arthur,” she finally said stupidly. “Mélie’s brother?”

“Yup,” he smiled, pointing to himself, “That’s me. And you must be Amicia? In my sister’s math and language arts class?”

“And typing.”

He either didn’t pick up on her tone or ignored it. “Well, what can I help ya find? And please don’t ask for blue mascara.”

“Why?” Amicia laughed. Hugo giggled as well, although he likely didn't understand what was funny. 

Arthur sighed. “One of the dumbass employees restocked them with the packaged foods.”

Amicia frowned, looking at Hugo pointedly. His eyes had gone wide upon hearing the curse.

“Sorry!” Arthur realized suddenly. He quickly amended, “One of the… _silly_ employees.”

“That’s rough,” Amicia let out, silently praying that Hugo wouldn't repeat the swear around Béatrice, “But I just need the basil.”

He smiled, motioning for her to follow him. “Dope. It’s right over here.”

Arthur led her past the spices, through the store, and to the diaper display. She was about to get frustrated with him for wasting her time, when he pointed to a small display of spices, _behind_ the mountain of diapers.

“Here you are.”

“Who put them _there_?” she raised an eyebrow, grabbing a bottle and handing it to Hugo to hold.

He grinned and hissed, “The manager is nuts.”

Amicia couldn’t help but agree.

\---

“I don’t want to go to church,” Amicia whined, laying in her bed, reading. “I’m tired.”

“Now,” Béatrice snapped her fingers, “Get dressed _now_.”

Amicia sighed dramatically and got up, walking over to her closet. Stupid stupid stupid. She’d just go to church, learn about Jesus, how she was a sinner for some minuscule thing she had done that week and not even thought about twice, feel guilty, go home, and continue being a sinner.

Stupid. 

Béatrice waited in her doorway until Amicia had picked out a dress, seemingly confident that she would actually put it on. It was pink and had stupid big puffed sleeves; one of those dresses she only bought because her friends heavily encouraged it. But she didn’t hate the dress as much as she hated going to church. 

She always had and she always would. One of their priests, Vitalis, had a voice that was slimy and gross. The dresses were uncomfortable, and the shoes pinched her toes. It was always too quiet. She had just never been particularly vociferous about her disdain. 

But something had changed. Something messed up her weekly routine, made her wake up a little, look around and blink, and ask her if she _really_ wanted to go. 

Maybe that thing was a stupid new girl.

\---

Amicia shuffled into church, her family taking a pew in the back middle area. It was practically _their_ pew, seeing as they sat there _every_ Sunday. The last time Amicia hadn’t been to church was because she had a temperature of one hundred and two. She couldn't remember the time before that that she had not gone.

Routine is routine, she supposed. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.

But when Mélie strolled into church with who Amicia recognized to be her brother and her foster parents, Amicia couldn’t help but stare. Arthur started it though. When he waved at her, she had no choice but to look up and wave back. But now that she was looking, she let her gaze linger.

Mélie was wearing black, high-waisted slacks, a purple button-up shirt that was minimally wrinkled, and a black blazer. Amicia realized with awe, she had the utter _audacity_ to put her pentagram on the blazer’s shoulder. 

Béatrice even noticed. She leaned over and whispered to Robert, “She may as well sacrifice a goat.”

He chuckled softly, Hugo climbing up into his lap.

Mass was uneventful and actually quite boring. But Amicia took notes and highlighted scriptures, as Béatrice required. Hugo didn’t need to quite yet. He still had a few years before he needed to actually listen, so he enjoyed coloring quietly in one of their laps or reading parables told through picture books.

Sunday school was slightly more interesting. They were covering the Seven Sacred Sacraments, specifically marriage. Of course, Amicia was taking notes, while everyone else was relatively relaxed. Especially Mélie. She was leaning far back in her seat, nearly tipping it over, but at least she had the restraint to not pull out her knife. Sabrina and Sophie rolled their eyes and shot Amicia annoyed looks, but it was relatively peaceful. 

_Marriage is the sacred bond between a man and a woman. God has ordained marriage..._

Amicia looked up from her slip of paper on top of her bible. Mélie was gone. She hadn’t even seen or heard her leave. Not that she cared. Good riddance.

She continued taking notes. Béatrice would flip through them after church to make sure she had actually paid attention, so she tried her best to not let her attention wander. Eventually, it felt hot and stuffy, and Amicia just wanted some fresh air, perhaps even some water. She already knew all of this anyway. Who didn’t know about the Seven Sacred Sacraments?

Amicia timidly raised her hand. “May I use the restroom?” The teacher nodded her head, and she made her way into the hall.

Amicia walked out of the church, making her way to the back grass parking lot. There was a lovely spot that no matter the day was shady, and it couldn't be seen from inside. When she rounded the corner, she saw a flash of black and red before she made impact.

“Fuck!” Mélie stumbled back, dropping something on the grass. She straightened herself out, looked down, and frowned. “That was a perfectly good cigarette.”

Amicia didn’t apologize, but she straightened her dress and took a spot next to Mélie, leaning against the wall. This was _her_ spot, and if Mélie wanted to invade it, Amicia would just pretend she wasn’t there.

“Gee, sorry, Mélie,” Mélie chirped in a high tone. In her lower voice, she said, “It’s okay Amicia, I understand it was an accident. No hard feelings.”

Amicia sighed and rolled her eyes, resting her head against the cool stone. Mélie mimicked her sigh and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket. She smacked it against her hand and selected one before lighting it with her lighter. Amicia sighed again.

“Sigh again and it’ll be a hobby,” Mélie informed her, sucking in a breath as if sucking through a straw.

“Ghastly hobby.”

Mélie removed the cigarette from her mouth and blew slowly before asking, “Sighing?”

Amicia shook her head, “Smoking. What kind of parent allows their child to have cancer sticks?”

“Hey,” Mélie shrugged, the cigarette in one hand, “you’re allowed to leave anytime, princess.”

“Your lungs will turn black and shrivel up.”

Mélie didn’t look particularly alarmed; she looked amused. “Says who?”

“A confluence of studies from epidemiology, cellular pathology, and chemical analytics.”

Mélie just shrugged. “Maybe I don’t care if I die. Ever consider that?”

Amicia watched in disgust as she puffed again. “Your mouth will taste disgusting.”

Mélie smirked and leaned forward, brushing her shoulder against Amicia’s. “Planning on tasting my mouth sometime soon?”

“I said smell,” Amicia shot back quickly.

“Taste,” she sang.

“ _Smell_.”

Mélie pulled back. “You’re no fun,” she grumbled, tapping the ashes onto the grass. “You suck the life and joy out of everything.”

“And you’re disgusting.”

Mélie smirked, “Well, clearly you care about me.”

“Do not.”

Mélie inhaled deeply, then blew from her mouth, the smoke coiling in the air around them. “You care about my lungs, and you care about how I taste.”

“I care about _my_ lungs.” When Mélie looked at her doubtfully, she added, “Secondhand smoke is real and dangerous.”

Mélie sucked in again and blew a puff in her face. “You care about me.”

Amicia coughed, swatting her hand through the air in front of her. It smelled like burnt coffee and grass, and it made her throat and eyes burn.

“You’re just on a nicotine high.”

“Maybe,” she puffed.

“I’ll say I care about you if you put that out.”

Mélie smirked, considering it. After a moment, she seemed to make her decision. She made a dramatic show of inhaling the smoke one last time before tapping it out against the stone of the church, leaving a black mark on the stone. She flicked the stub in Amicia’s direction, and it landed by her shoes.

“Say it, and not because I care, but because I like seeing the light in your eyes dim each conversation you have with me.”

Amicia grinned, kicking the stub away from her feet. “ _It_.”

Mélie narrowed her eyes and motioned to the jelly bracelets on her wrist. “I will cast a curse on you so terrible that it makes you crawl up into your mother’s womb and pray to your God to be unborn.”

“Crawl up into my mother’s… what?”

Mélie just said firmly, “You heard me. I’ll get out another cig.”

“I care about you,” Amicia grumbled.

“Good,” she purred. 

Amicia pulled away again, ignoring the twisting in her stomach. “I can’t believe you wore a pentagram to church.”

Mélie rolled her eyes, “Pentacle, Amicia. See how it’s enclosed in a circle?” When Amicia shrugged, she added, “And I can’t believe you actually buy into the self-righteous bullshit they teach.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Mélie exhaled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Jesus gave everything he had to help the poor, but most of you guys are practically bourgeois and hardly even pay your taxes.” Her face scrunched up like she had smelled something bad. “ _Love the sinner, hate the sin_ , and all that bullshit, but then they proceed to alienate anyone who dares to go against them. The exact opposite of Jesus in all of his magnanimity.”

“Not true,” Amicia protested. “Most Christians are… quite… _magnanimous_.”

Mélie waved her hand dismissively. “They just teach shit that strokes your cocks until you’re so hard that you have to go home and masturba-”

Amicia cut her off quickly, “You’re… you’re just,” she made a strangled noise, “You’re revolting and sickening, you know that?”

Mélie gave her a big smile, straight from a toothpaste advertisement. “I know I make your stomach churn, but my point still stands. They just stroke your…” Amicia flinched, and Mélie smiled sweetly, “ _ego_.”

Amicia scuffed her toe against the ground. “I usually just go home feeling guilty,” she murmured softly.

And God, did she know how to capture Mélie’s attention. “What could you, a perfect little Christian girl, feel guilty about?” she scoffed.

Amicia flushed. “I-I just do, I guess.”

Mélie smirked. “Someone has a dirty secret.”

“No.” 

Amicia honestly couldn’t think of anything to feel guilty about; no horrible sin she had committed recently weighed on her mind. Yet her chest felt heavy, and she just felt… wrong.

Mélie’s face lit up, and she teased, “Oh, but you do.”

“No, I don’t.” Amicia straightened out her skirt. “I have nothing to hide.”

Mélie’s face screamed ‘doubtful’ and so did the series of questions that followed. “Do you sell drugs?” she quizzed, leaning forward. “Secretly practice witchcraft?” Mélie leaned in even more, her lips practically brushing against Amicia’s ear. “Write lesbian erotica?”

“No,” Amicia stopped her, drawing away. “None of that. All of those are terrible things to do.”

Mélie leaned back against the church and pulled her lighter out, beginning to flick it on and off. “Even witchcraft?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Amicia frowned, eyeing the flame warily. “I’m not a Satan worshipper.”

Mélie flicked off the lighter, grinning. “I’m a witch.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am,” she repeated calmly. Mélie played with the jelly bracelets on her wrist, a clear reminder to Amicia that they were still there. “And I’ve put a spell on you. And only I know how to break it.”

Amicia glared again. “You’re not, and if you _were_ , the Lord would protect me.”

“Cute, princess. Real cute,” she leaned in and hissed, her breath warm in Amicia’s ear, “But your god can’t save you from me.” 

And with that, she walked off, leaving Amicia with only flushed skin and the smell of cigarette smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wikihow to smoke a cigarette" is now in my search history. Idk how I feel about that.
> 
> Also, Illegal Heathers was playing while I wrote this. Much better than the actual Heathers musical, I must say.
> 
> And my science teacher went on a rant today about how evil porn is and how she saw a Playboy as a child and it's been scarred into her brain. I just thought that was hilarious.


	4. amplitude

Amicia was sitting on Sophie’s bed, painting her nails. They were supposed to be studying, but Amicia had finished quickly, and Sophie didn’t seem to care. She still had an hour left before Béatrice needed her home for dinner, so they decided to fritter away the remaining time.

“Amicia, check out this bikini,” Sophie called from the bed. Amicia blew on her nails before climbing up beside her. Sophie pointed to a page in the catalog, smiling. “Totally bodacious, right?”

Amicia froze. The bikini was a deep blue and quite form-fitting on the model. Amicia couldn’t help but think the bikini needed to be at _least_ one or two sizes larger, maybe even more. Her gaze lingered in all of the wrong spots, and her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

“Amicia?”

“I-It’s a little revealing.

Sophie frowned. “Is that your way of saying I don’t have the bod for it?”

Her trance was shattered, and her pulse jumped, her skin burning. “No!” Her voice came out sharp, defensive even. She blinked, and tried again, this time making her voice soft. “No, I just… I don’t like it much. I’ve seen you in cuter.”

Sophie smiled, seemingly content with the answer. She shifted her attention to flipping to the bra section of the catalog. 

“Ooo,” she squealed, pumping her legs up and down. She pointed at a hot pink push-up bra, breaking into a huge grin. “That would look so cute on you, Amicia!”

Amicia froze again. This time, instead of looking where Sophie was pointing, she focused on Sophie’s nail. Without even looking at the bra, she murmured, “Totally, it’s tubular.” Amicia swallowed again and inhaled deeply. “Actually, can I borrow this catalog?”

Sophie grinned, tucking it in her purse. “You can keep it!”

\---

Amicia sat up in bed, her room illuminated only by lamplight. Her door was securely shut and locked, and the catalog lay in front of her. It remained shut.

“Come on Amicia, you gotta do this,” she whispered, inching her hand out tentatively, as though the catalog was a possibly rabid dog or venomous snake. Once her fingers landed on the cool cover, she relaxed her shoulders slightly, but not completely.

First, she flipped to the men’s section, stopping at the swimming suits. She stared at the swimming trucks for a long time, waiting to feel something. _Anything_. 

Objectively, the guys were attractive. _Very_ attractive. But she just felt empty, the same way she would feel staring at shoes. Sure, they were nice, but they were just shoes. But men are not shoes, so she waited for some other feeling to arise.

What she knew she was probably supposed to feel didn’t come. Amicia picked up the catalog, skimming past blouses and flipping past skirts. She stopped once she reached the bikinis.

Amicia’s stomach immediately twisted, like she had entered an elevator, and it shot up to the tenth floor before she could even press the button. She couldn’t even look for ten seconds before she shut the catalog and chucked it across the room. It hit her closet door before landing on the floor, its pages bent strangely.

“Nonono,” she murmured, clutching her cross necklace. “I’m just jealous of their bodies... or something.”

Amicia leaned back and shut her eyes. But the girls were still there. It was like viewing a photo, crisp and clear. She hated it. But most of all, she hated herself.

\---

Amicia made her way through the library, an envelope in one hand and her bag in the other. This would be quick, seeing as the library closed in half an hour. (The librarian had glared and reminded her of that four times when she came in.) 

She sat down in front of the microfiche machine, pulling the microfilm from the envelope. Amicia flicked on the power switch, waiting for the screen to light up. Someone pulled out the seat beside her, sitting down at well. 

“Hi, princess.”

Amicia rolled her eyes, placing the film on the tray. She moved it around, waiting for the screen to display the film, but it was black. 

“Supposed to have the white side up.” 

She reached over, her elbow brushing against Amicia’s chest. Amicia ignored the triple somersault her heart did upon contact and pulled away, giving her space to move the slide tray under the lens. This time, Amicia was able to see the magazine articles. 

“You’re welcome.”

“I knew how to,” Amicia frowned, turning the position dial so that she could zoom in on the image.

“But you didn’t.”

Amicia finally turned to look at Mélie. She was sitting cross-legged on the chair, leaning towards Amicia. Her fingers were covered in rings, and she still had the jelly bracelets. Those stupid jelly bracelets that Amicia wanted to rip off of her wrist, dunk in holy water, dry, and then burn. 

“Are you using a microfiche?”

“Nah,” Mélie shrugged, fiddling with her rings.

Amicia turned back to the machine. “Then go away.”

She leaned forward, looking over Amicia’s shoulder. “What are you doing?” Mélie asked, completely ignoring Amicia’s order.

“Looking at articles for the holocaust report we’re doing. The one that _you_ should be working on.” Amicia shifted, trying to put space between them. “Now go away.”

She smiled sweetly. “I don’t think I will.”

Amicia made a strangled noise and skimmed over the article. But it was just words and pictures displayed on a screen. It was impossible to focus with Mélie there, watching. 

After a few minutes, she pulled the film from the tray, stuffing it in the envelope. Amicia flicked off the machine and grabbed her bag, standing up and quickly walking over to the microfiche basket to return the envelope. 

“Wait up.”

Amicia did the opposite, putting the envelope away and then turning to head deeper into the library, near the science-fiction. 

“Wait.”

“Why are you following me?” Amicia asked, not stopping or turning around.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?”

She wove between shelves of books, hoping to either lose Mélie or run into someone else. Amicia saw a fire escape and was tempted to leave through it, but decided Mélie wasn’t _quite_ worth the fuss.

“Amicia, why won’t you talk to me?”

“Because… argh!” Amicia whipped around when Mélie grabbed her wrist, her hold surprisingly firm. “I don’t like you or talking to you, that’s why!”

“Why?” Mélie asked stubbornly, still gripping her wrist.

“You’re…” Amicia tugged, but Mélie held onto her, “You’re off-limits. I’m not allowed to talk to you,” she tugged again, “so let me go.” Amicia finally yanked her wrist out of Mélie’s grip.

Mélie crossed her arms over her chest. “Who banned you from talking to me?”

Amicia glared. “None of your business.”

“You’re allowed to talk to whomever you want.”

“I know.”

“But you clearly don’t.”

“Oh bite me,” Amicia rolled her eyes again.

Mélie shrugged. “Where?”

“Where what?”

She smirked, leaning forward. “Where do you want me to bite you?”

Her stomach twisted yet again, but she refused to show it. Instead, she scrunched up her face in disgust. 

“ _T_ _his_ ,” Amicia groaned, smacking her forehead, “is why I don’t like talking to you.”

“You told me to bite you!”

“It’s a figure of speech!”

“Well, maybe _I’m_ being sarcastic!”

“Well, maybe _I_ don’t like your sarcasm!”

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t yell in a library!”

Amicia flushed, looking around. Luckily, the area was deserted. Still, she pulled Mélie behind a different bookshelf, just in case someone had seen them. She just stood there for a moment, calming her rushed breathing. She would be able to better articulate herself if she was calm.

“Wow,” Mélie exhaled. The smirk on her face and the way she leaned in warned Amicia of what she was going to say before she even said it. “You ready to taste my mouth already? I thought you hated the taste of cigarettes.”

Amicia nearly lost it, and not because they were about to kiss; they were actually quite far from it. Amicia was much more likely to slap her at this point, and girls don’t kiss girls, _obviously_. 

She nearly lost it because Mélie’s stupid little remarks made her blush and put strange thoughts in her head that should _not_ be there. It was like the catalogs and magazines, multiplied by ten thousand. Maybe even ten thousand and one.

“ _Stop_!” Amicia practically shrieked.

“What is your damage?" Mélie asked, alarmed by Amicia's outburst. "I’m clearly kidding.”

"Well, I do not like it." Amicia paused before hissing, “And I don't like talking to you, so stop trying so hard.”

Mélie’s eyes narrowed, and she looked at Amicia in a way that made her feel like she was being dissected. Amicia waited for the witty, facetious remark, but instead, she just grumbled, “Fine.”

\---

Amicia was sitting on her window seat, her feet up on the white cushion. Notebook propped up on her knees, and a pencil in her hand, she wrote. Nothing particularly interesting. Just whatever happened to pop into her head. Stream of consciousness, as her creative writing teacher had called it. 

“Amicia?” Béatrice knocked on the door and walked in before Amicia had answered.

“Yeah?”

She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Amicia carefully. This was clearly one of those checkups Amicia’s parents liked to do. Béatrice hadn’t come in with clear purpose; she just came to see what Amicia was doing. And once she was there, Amicia became acutely aware of what was playing on the radio. Béatrice did too.

“What are you listening to?” Béatrice’s eyes were wide.

Amicia shrugged. “Just a song.”

“Like a virgin? Touched for the very first time?” She repeated the lyrics disbelievingly. “Who sings this horrible thing?”

“Madonna,” Amicia murmured, turning down her radio.

“The Virgin Mary?”

“No, Madonna is like…” she sighed, placing her pencil down, “her stage name. She’s American.”

Béatrice frowned. “That’s disgustingly sacrilegious.” She paused, thinking for a moment as the music continued to play, just softer now. “Her music is not permitted in this house anymore, understand?”

Amicia nodded, reaching over and changing the radio station. Béatrice nodded approvingly and left, shutting the door behind her.

Amicia heard her footsteps thud softly down the stairs. She then changed the radio station back to Madonna. 

\---

Amicia and Mélie had managed to go a week without talking. It was bliss. That is, it was bliss until Friday in math class when Amicia needed help.

Amicia frowned. If she just asked the teacher, she’d ask if Amicia had asked her tablemate. But if she asked Mélie, she’d somehow make it uncomfortable and manage to give Amicia the weird twisty feeling in her stomach. Not to mention Amicia had explicitly told Mélie to not talk to her anymore.

Finally, she resorted to sighing dramatically and dropping her pencil on the table. Mélie looked up, one eyebrow raised.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t understand how to find amplitude for the cosine.”

“Am I allowed to talk to you?” Mélie asked her seriously, not smirking as Amicia had anticipated.

“Yes.”

Mélie leaned over, picking up Amicia’s pencil as she wrote on the page.

“Amicia, the amplitude is half of the distance it takes to get from the top to bottom,” she marked up the graph, drawing over the curve. Her hand brushed against Amicia’s, but Amicia didn't move. “So what is the distance it takes?”

“Four?”

“Yeah, so half of that is two, which is the amplitude.” She then turned over to Amicia’s equation, “And then you plug in the amplitude for the variable of A." Mélie looked up at her, not even looking at the paper as she said, "So, Y is equal to _two_ sine, times x, minus pi thirds, plus one.”

Amicia just nodded, and Mélie wrote out the equation in her slanted handwriting. “Understand?”

Amicia nodded, and Mélie handed her her pencil, smiling softly. “Oh, and Amicia?”

“Hm?”

“The period is how long it takes to make a full-wave, right?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the not Illegal Heathers. It's also pretty good. But I like the illegal one a little more.
> 
> And also, hear me out. Corinne from Barbie and the Three Musketeers looks like Amicia at the beginning of the game.


	5. Sharpie

Amicia was holding Hugo’s hand, guiding him through the store. He’d wanted to look at cakes, so Amicia had taken him to the bakery section, but now that they were done, they couldn’t find Béatrice. Amicia was relatively certain she was more panicked than Hugo was. 

When they finally found Béatrice, she was in the home decoration section and deep in conversation with Mrs. Asselin, Sabrina’s mother. 

“Amicia,” Mrs. Asselin beamed, “your mother and I were just talking about you.”

“What about?” Amicia forced a polite smile. One she had practically mastered over the years, just for Mrs. Asselin.

Amicia had never liked Mrs. Asselin. Her brightly colored blouses had always been just a little too wrinkleless and her smiles had always been just a little too wide, much like Sabrina’s. She also said exactly what was on her mind, with little to no filter. Something that Amicia still hadn’t gotten used to in her sixteen years of knowing her.

“Oh, just marveling about what a wonderful young woman you’re growing into.” She splayed a hand over her collarbone, sighing deeply. “You’ll be seventeen in just a few months; I can hardly believe it.”

Amicia tried not to gag. There was no way on God’s green earth that that was what they were really talking about, and Amicia knew it. Probably something about her schoolwork or Sabrina, seeing as Sabrina was Mrs. Asselin's favorite topic. 

“Thank you. And yes, I’ll be seventeen in March, but that’s not for a while.” Amicia forced another polite smile. 

“That’s still exciting! And my Amicia,” Mrs. Asselin looked her up and down, her eyes wide, likely for dramatic effect, “I just saw you last week, but I swear your chest has grown to fill out that shirt.”

“I-” Amicia flushed and looked down. Who… who says that? What even was the proper response to such a statement? Hugo looked up at her curiously, and Amicia just murmured, “Thank you, I-I suppose.” 

“Anyway,” Béatrice cut in, sensing Amicia’s discomfort, “is Sabrina looking forward to her birthday?”

“Yes!” Mrs. Asselin flashed another picture-perfect smile. “She’s our little Christmas present.”

Amicia tried not to roll her eyes, still shaking off her shock and annoyance. Sabrina’s birthday was December fifteenth, so her family constantly referred to her as their _little Christmas miracle_. Plans for their little Christmas miracle’s birthday started as soon as late October, and unfortunately, that time had arrived. 

“I wanna go, mummy,” Hugo sighed, voicing what Amicia was too polite to say.

“Just a moment,” Béatrice dismissed him, turning back to Sabrina’s mother. 

“Please? I’m _bored_.” He dragged out the last syllable in ‘bored’, as if that would make his point more clear.

“Just a moment, Hugo,” Béatrice repeated calmly. “You’re almost seven; you can wait.” 

Although Amicia too was bored, and she too wanted to leave, she shot him a look to shut him up when he opened his mouth to say something. A look that went unnoticed. 

“Please!” Hugo tugged on her sleeve.

Béatrice sighed, turning to look down at him. “If you can wait patiently, you can pick out a small toy when we leave.”

He grinned, slapping his hand over his mouth. “I’m patient. Very patient.” He bounced on his toes. 

Amicia ruffled his hair fondly. “I know you are.” 

So half an hour of Amicia listening to their boring conversation while Hugo fidgeted impatiently with his clothes later, Béatrice finally decided they could go, and that Hugo could pick out his reward. 

“What do you want, bud?” Amicia asked him, smiling. 

He hurried over to the toys, picking up a small Care Bear. It was yellow and smiling stupidly, and its white stomach had a little sun on it, smiling just as stupidly. Soon, Hugo’s smile matched the bear’s. 

“This. It’s a bear.” He paused and added, “Roar!”

Béatrice grabbed it from him, studying it for a moment, frowning. She inspected the hearts on its feet and put it back on the shelf. “Amicia had one similar to this. This is a girl’s toy.”

Hugo shrugged, picking it back up. “I like it.”

Béatrice grabbed it and put it back again, this time on a higher shelf, just out of his reach. “Let’s get you a boy’s toy.”

“But I like it.” He looked up at Amicia, his eyebrows knit together in genuine confusion. 

“We’re getting something else,” Béatrice told him, taking his hand. “Come on.” 

So they went and grabbed a Transformer, even though Hugo didn’t look nearly as happy with it. He didn’t look happy at all. 

\---

“Amicia,” Sabrina grinned, grabbing her hand as they walked down the hallway, “remember Rodric?”

“Yeah…?”

“He’s on the football team.” 

Sabrina blinked, waiting for some grand reaction; Amicia did not supply it.

“Okay?”

“He’s kinda cute.”

“And?”

She broke into a beam, giving Amicia’s hand a squeeze. “Alexandre and I set you two up on a date!”

“ _What_?” Amicia pulled her hand back in alarm.

“Friday, six o clock.”

“I hate you.”

\---

Amicia quickly learned that Rodric was… a character. Definitely something. 

They were late to the movies, so they had to purchase tickets in the front row. This meant that their necks were cranked as far back as humanly possible to look up at the screen. Amicia was convinced that she would need a chiropractor by the time the two or so hours were over.

Not only that, but Rodric had decided concessions were too expensive. While Amicia _completely_ agreed, his way to get around them was… interesting. He had snuck in food, as one does, just not a traditional candy bar or bag of popcorn. No, he had managed to sneak in a loaf of bread. Amicia was flabbergasted.

But, Rodric was polite, shared his bread, and made no move to hold her hand or initiate any other form of physical contact. All in all, it was a nice experience. Just no “butterflies”. Though, the bread was shockingly delicious.

Rodric walked her home from the theater, which was not a long walk. He took her to her doorstep and stood there awkwardly for a moment, the sun beginning to set. Amicia put one hand on the sun-warmed doorknob, terrified he was going to try to kiss her. Nothing about him seemed like he would, but Amicia had been on enough dates and dodged enough goodbye kisses that she was always cautious. 

“I had fun, goodnight.” She began turning the handle.

“Umm,” he sighed, “Could you wait for a moment?”

Amicia swallowed and nodded, reluctantly letting her fingers slide from the security of the metal doorknob. She tightened her sweater and turned around, facing him. Even with her on a step higher than him, he towered over her. 

“So, yeah, erm,” Rodric chuckled uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his reddening neck, “This has been fun and all, but it’s,” he cleared his throat, “not my thing.”

Amicia exhaled, relieved. “Oh thank _god_. You’re really sweet but…”

“I just don’t feel it,” Rodric finished. “You’re not my type, _at all_.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Amicia swallowed, realizing she didn’t even know _what_ her type was. Just... not Rodric. “You’re really sweet though.”

“Yeah,” Rodric broke into a beam, “You’re a lot more chill than I expected for someone who hangs with Sabrina.”

Amicia laughed. “Thank you?”

“I mean it in a good way!” he rambled quickly, blushing again.

“I get it,” Amicia leaned back against the door, laughing freely. “Do you think that maybe… we could do this again, but like, as friends?”

Rodric’s beam grew even wider. “Yes! That sounds dope.”

They exchanged numbers, and Amicia went inside, smiling. This was probably the best date she had ever been on. No expectations, no kisses, just friends. 

\---

“Did you hear about Mélie?” Sophie interrogated as soon as Amicia picked up her ringing phone.

“What? No?” Amicia sat down at the edge of her bed.

“Are you alone?”

“Yeah. Why, Soph?”

“Okay, get this,” she giggled, “Isabella said that Madelyn said that Sabrina caught Mélie in the bathroom, _with another girl_.”

Amicia’s mind blanked completely. She just swallowed, blinked, and asked stupidly, “What do you mean, ‘with another girl’?” 

Sophie was silent. “Like... You know.”

Suddenly it clicked, and Amicia sputtered, almost falling off of her bed. “ _What_?” Her voice was shrill. Amicia didn’t even stop to think about how she had just seen Sabrina a few hours ago at church, and how Sabrina hadn’t said anything about that. 

“Right?” Sophie cackled. “I told you guys she was part of a lesbian coven.”

Amicia frowned, pulling at her bedspread absentmindedly. “Who was the girl?”

“Don’t know, doesn’t matter,” she dismissed quickly. “But this is crazy.”

“Insane,” Amicia murmured. Her stomach ached, and not in a good way. 

Sophie went on about how disgusting it was for quite some time until Amicia felt like she wouldn’t be able to handle it. It _was_ disgusting. Sinful. Yet Amicia was the one feeling guilty. 

Finally, she couldn’t take Sophie’s rambling anymore. “My mom’s calling me, I need to go.” 

She hung up without another word and flopped back against her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Amicia’s stomach sank as she realized tomorrow was going to be quite eventful. There was no way Sabrina hadn’t singlehandedly called every single one of Amicia’s friends and informed them about Mélie. There was no way people wouldn’t be saying shit at school. There was no way Amicia wouldn’t manage to get herself roped into it.

No way.

\---

Amicia was right, of course. Sabrina had told all of their friends, and all of their friends were making stupid jokes. At least no one had the guts to say something to Mélie or Arthur.

Or maybe that was worse.

What was worse was when Christophe rapped on the door of her second-period science class, grinning. Amicia looked up and shook her head, but he opened the door and walked in. Amicia internally groaned. She had managed to mostly avoid him after the Playboy incident, and she really didn't feel like talking with him one-on-one. 

Christophe quietly approached the teacher and murmured something about the math teacher needing Amicia. He must have been convincing, because Mr. Martin let her go. Or maybe Mr. Martin just didn’t care.

Amicia reluctantly followed him from the class, frowning. “Why’d you take me,” she hissed.

He turned around and he told her, sniggering, “I figured out which locker is Mélie’s.”

Amicia paled. “And…?”

“I wrote on it.” He was clearly proud of himself, strutting down the hall.

Amicia stopped, her mind racing. She realized he was still walking and ran to fill in the distance he had created in the moment it took her to buffer. “Show me. _Now_.”

He nodded, still smiling, and led her through the hallways, not even attempting to avoid teachers. Only a few months into the school year, and they had already stopped caring.

Christophe stopped in front of what Amicia could only assume was Mélie’s locker. Written in blocky, large, red letters was the word _fag_. Amicia whipped around to look at him, struggling to breathe. She was panicking. Everyone would be able to see this.

_Everyone._

“When did you write this?” she interrogated. _Who all had already seen this?_ was what she was really asking.

“Like, right before I came to grab you.”

Amicia let out a breath, the weight lifted from her chest, but just slightly. “What did you write this with?”

“Sharpie,” he shrugged.

Amicia bristled. The weight had just been dropped back onto her chest, as Sharpie would not come off easily. “That’s _vandalism_ , Chris!” she hissed. “You could get in serious trouble.”

“I don’t care,” he shrugged again. "I'm already in trouble, all the time."

“You should care,” Amicia frowned. “This… Vandalism is terrible. Don’t do this ever again.” 

Christophe nodded, his face growing red. "I don't get why you care so much,” he murmured.

“Get me some tape and a piece of paper,” Amicia ordered, ignoring his comment.

“You need to chill,” he sighed.

Amicia clenched her fist, taking a surprising amount of willpower to not slap him. “Get me the Goddamn tape and a piece of paper,” she told him, her voice struggling to remain steady.

His eyes widened, and he pulled a loose sheet of lined paper and tan packing tape from his bag, holding it out for Amicia. She yanked it from him, not bothering to ask why he would have packing tape, instead using her teeth to tear a piece. She then hastily covered the graffiti in paper and tape. It was sloppy and obviously an attempt to cover something, but it would do until a janitor could get to it, hopefully soon.

Amicia turned back to Christophe who was standing awkwardly. “Now get your ass in class before you do anything else stupid.”

His eyes widened even more. “You never swear, Amicia.”

Amicia didn’t let her gaze or voice waver. “Just get back to class, Chris.”

“Yes ma’am.” He gave her a mock salute and shaky smile before running down the hallway. 

Amicia made her mind up to go back to chemistry. Her shoes clicked on the tile obnoxiously, and she was acutely aware of how loud her breathing was. Why was she so stressed? This was one of the less terrible things Christophe had done. She wasn’t even that involved.

She was making her way past the bathroom when someone grabbed her hand and yanked her in. Amicia spun around, disoriented. 

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

Amicia looked up, alarmed. She then looked down at the hand grabbing on hers. The jelly bracelets. Those stupid, goddamned jelly bracelets. 

“What do you mean?” Amicia yanked her hand away, steadying herself.

“With the locker. I can take care of myself.” Mélie was glaring at her. 

Amicia’s eyes narrowed. “Were you spying on me?”

“No,” Mélie frowned, shaking her head.

“Yes, you were. You’re such a creep.”

Mélie’s cheeks went bright red, and it was nearly impossible to tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. “It’s my fucking locker! You think I’m not going to notice two freaks standing in front of it, doing who knows what?”

Amicia hissed, “You’re the freak.”

Mélie crossed her arms. “And you’re the bitch that started the rumor about me.” 

“What rumor?”

“That I was in the bathroom fucking with another girl,” Mélie growled, her voice deep.

Amicia pulled back. “I did not.”

“One of your prissy little friends did.” Amicia could tell Mélie was trying to remain relatively calm, but she was quickly losing her sarcastic, cool persona.

“I know nothing about it,” Amicia’s eyes narrowed, and she lowered her voice to meet Mélie’s tone, “and for all I know, it’s the truth.”

Mélie made a motion of strangling the air, her words coming out garbled. “I-I… I-it’s,” she made the sound of an old car struggling to come to life, “It’s _not_.”

Amicia shrugged innocently. “I wouldn’t know, it’s none of my business.” But she did know. None of Sabrina’s story made sense. 

Mélie’s eyes looked at her pleadingly. “Please help.”

Amicia tried to ignore the stab of guilt she felt. She _hadn’t_ done anything. Why should she help? Why was _she_ feeling guilty? 

Finally, Amicia let out coolly, “Oh, so now you want my help?”

“I’m asking for it now, aren’t I?” When Amicia just stared at her, Mélie rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me beg. I don’t like begging for things.”

Amicia rolled her eyes right back. “Why should I help you? I didn’t do anything.” 

“I dunno,” Mélie sighed. She took a deep breath and murmured, “If someone says something about it, tell them the truth.” She phrased the request carefully, more like a question, and it made something painful jab in Amicia’s chest.

Amicia swallowed, trying to squelch the feeling. “Maybe.”

“No,” Mélie gripped her hand, her eyes desperately trying to look stern but failing, “fucking promise.”

Amicia tugged her hand away. “Fine.”

\---

(And she kept her promise; anytime anyone asked that day, Amicia said something along the lines of, “Sabrina didn’t even say who the other girl was, and she didn't say anything about it when I saw her in church on Sunday. I really doubt it.”

At least, that’s what she said when Sabrina and Sophie weren’t around. When they were around, she went silent.)

\---

Amicia stayed after school that day. She had a few questions for her math teacher, and she had to check on Mélie’s locker. Well, she didn’t _have_ to, but she had to if she’d like to sleep that night. She had privately asked the janitor to take care of it, and he had just mumbled something that Amicia couldn’t quite tell if it was a _yes_ , _no_ , or _maybe_. 

Amicia walked down the hall, a clump of damp paper towels in her right hand, just in case it hadn’t been cleaned. She was not certain how much good it would do against Sharpie, but she could try. She turned the corner to Mélie’s locker when her eyes landed on a figure standing in front of it.

“What are you doing?” Amicia asked him softly.

He whipped around, flinging water and suds everywhere. When Rodric’s eyes landed on Amicia, he frowned. 

“Removing this shit.”

Amicia took another step forward. “Why?”

His back turned to her, he shrugged. “I’m,” Rodric cleared his throat, “close with her brother.” His neck was bright red, and his earlier comment about Amicia not being his type, at _all_ , should have clicked in her head, but it didn’t. “This will help them both,” he added.

“Oh,” Amicia breathed. She took another step forward. “Can I help?”

Rodric looked up from the red sharpie markings, one eyebrow raised. “Your friends are the ones who did this.”

She swallowed. “I still don’t like it.”

His face softened, and he handed Amicia a sponge from the bucket. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We just finished academic decathlon testing, but now I’m left with an absurd amount of knowledge about the Cold War era, and art during that time. I will find a way to incorporate it, or else it’s just wasting precious space in my brain. I guess Mélie is a GRAV art fan now.
> 
> I watched the documentary Murder Among the Mormons because that happened in 1985, and it’s also really really interesting. The events took place about when this fic is happening, same month and all. 
> 
> Also, I feel the need to apologize for how much of an Americanized version of 1980s France this is. I tried, but... yeah. All of my research into the 1980s led me to the American 1980s.


	6. thin ice and wildfires

It had been a week since the locker incident. Luckily for Mélie (and Amicia’s conscious), the rumor had quickly died down. People either realized it was fake or stopped caring. Both of which were fine with Amicia. 

But Sabrina wouldn’t let it go. She continued to make stupid jokes, which Amicia and Sophie had at first entertained but eventually flat out stopped laughing at. Sabrina finally took the hint, and her jokes mostly subsided, but the snarky comments when Mélie walked by did not. Sabrina had a surprisingly impressive supply of homophobic slurs at her disposal, and Amicia was beginning to think that Sabrina would never run out of creative, imaginative ways to say 'lesbian'. 

Even though Amicia was close to losing it with Sabrina, they were back in Amicia’s bedroom, doing prank phone calls. The calls were still wildly outlandish, but Sophie was in charge of them, so there was no mean spirit to it. That was, no mean spirit to it until Sabrina sighed that she was bored, forcefully took the phone from Sophie, and dialed a number she seemed to have memorized.

Amicia waited, holding her breath as the phone rang. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Someone picked up on the fourth ring and a droll voice answered, “Hello?”

Amicia immediately reached over, trying to grab the phone from Sabrina to hang up. Sabrina didn't even have to dodge Amicia, she just gave her the _look_. The one she had practically mastered since preschool. The look that meant _shut the hell up or you die_. Not literally, of course, but it may as well have been. Amicia just swallowed and scooted back on her bed, Sophie grabbing her hand comfortingly.

"Hello?" the person on the phone repeated when Sabrina was silent. 

Sabrina, seemingly satisfied that Amicia would not sabotage the phone call, exhaled obnoxiously into the receiver. “This the lezzie?” Sabrina asked, making her voice mockingly high. 

“Hmm,” Mélie hummed, and Amicia could practically see the amused expression she was wearing. “Lemme guess, these are the mall magots? Sabrina,” she paused thoughtfully, “Sophie, and,” another pause, “Amicia, huh?”

She gasped, biting into her palm to stop from saying anything. All three of them looked at each other before Sophie spoke up, her voice shaking, “No.”

“Yes, it is,” Mélie teased in a sing-songy voice. “Listen, I know you’re all weirdly infatuated with me. You probably had some weird dreams starring me, and you’ve decided this is the best way to get all of the repression out of your systems,” Mélie paused. “It’s not.” Another long pause, and Amicia could hear Mélie tapping on something, likely a desk. “If you want to fuck around with a girl,” she was definitely smirking now, “or fuck a girl, I’m not the one you should be calling. Phone sex _really_ isn’t my thing.” 

Amicia bit down on her tongue, _hard_. “Hang up,” Amicia hissed, her cheeks burning. “Hang up _now_.”

Sabrina made no move to hang up, so Amicia climbed over her, yanking the phone from her hand. Sophie looked at her, confused, as Amicia rolled over off of Sabrina and onto the bed, slamming the phone onto the receiver, ending the call.

"What is your damage, Amicia!" Sabrina bristled, pushing Amicia off of her. 

"What is _your_ damage?" Amicia sat up, brushing hair out of her eyes.

Sabrina fell silent, and Amicia was left torn between anger with Sabrina for calling Mélie, and anger with Mélie for saying some of the stuff she had said. 

Oh, and definite fury and self-loathing with herself for letting Mélie’s remarks about phone sex put _strange_ thoughts in her head that should _not_ be there, and for letting Mélie raise her internal temperature at least a few degrees. 

“How’d she know it was us?” Sabrina asked, her eyebrows pinched in worry that she was trying hard to mask.

“She’s a witch,” Sophie giggled nervously. “She knows everything.”

At this point, Amicia had joined Sophie’s side and wholeheartedly believed that Mélie was a witch, and she was relatively certain Sabrina was beginning to as well. 

“She’s crazy.”

The three of them were silent, Amicia picking at her nails, Sophie fidgeting with her skirt and bracelets, and Sabrina fixing her hair. 

“Why’d you call her?” Amicia asked softly.

Sabrina looked up, her eyebrows raised. “Because it’s funny, duh.”

“It’s not,” Amicia frowned, “and I’m beginning to agree with her.”

Sabrina lifted her eyebrows even more. “Agree with whom about what?” She was giving Amicia a chance to backtrack, maybe take back what she said, but Amicia ignored her opportunity.

“I’m agreeing with Mélie that maybe we- no, _you_ have a strange infatuation with her.” 

Sabrina’s eyebrows were threatening to reach her hairline. “Oh, really?” she gave Amicia one of Mrs. Asselin’s eerily large grins, “Well, I was informed that you told everyone that I was lying about Mélie and that you got mad at Christophe for simply writing something truthful on Mélie’s locker.” Sabrina continued to smile sweetly at Amicia’s frown. “I didn’t want to believe it, but now I am beginning to.” 

“Go ahead and believe it,” Amicia told her calmly, “because it’s true.” 

“I see,” she purred and leaned in, her face right next to Amicia’s. “You’re treading on mighty thin ice. I wouldn’t want you to fall in and drown.” 

Amicia narrowed her eyes. “Is that a threat?”

Sabrina pulled away and looked over at Sophie, whose brown eyes were wide. “Not necessarily. Be well behaved next week and at the dance, and it won’t be.” 

\---

The week passed, and Amicia managed to not break the ice. In fact, now that everyone else seemed over Mélie, and Amicia was no longer defending her, the ice seemed to be freezing and getting thicker, not melting. 

Although, Amicia couldn’t help but think that the ice got a little warmer every time she was around Mélie and that the ice was much more likely to crack, threatening to send Amicia into the freezing water below. Thankfully, she was only around Mélie in a few of her classes, and that meant plenty of time for it to freeze and harden again. 

Amicia was putting too much thought into her metaphorical ice and what would happen if it broke while she was sitting on her bed. She was applying nude makeup while Sophie did her hair. Probably not a great idea after the hair crimping incident, but Amicia really only understood how to do a braid, and unfortunately, that wasn't quite school dance formal material. Sabrina was supposed to be the one doing Amicia's hair, but she decided last minute to get ready with Isabella instead. To be honest, Amicia was relieved. Being around Sabrina had been exhausting. 

When Sophie declared that she was done, Amicia finished applying her blush inhaled deeply, silently praying that her hair would be acceptable. She readjusted the mirror to check it out and soon realized that she didn’t need to pray.

Sophie had carefully done her hair in beach waves, teasing it slightly at the top. Her hair, which normally fell past her shoulder blades, now reached barely past her shoulder. It looked a little messy, but Amicia could tell it was supposed to. She set the mirror down, grinning.

“Thank you, Soph!”

“Of course." She exhaled, seemingly relieved Amicia liked it. Sophie touched up her own hair before saying, “Let’s get dressed, alright?”

Amicia picked up her dress. “I’ll take the bathroom; you can get dressed in here.”

Sophie nodded and Amicia made her way to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door before getting undressed. Her dress was dusty pink with a ruffle of fabric that hung loosely over the chest. A matching, loose ruffle gathered by her ankles, and a pink ribbon cinched her waist. Two, small straps held it up, but other than that, it was shoulderless. 

Amicia pulled on the white shawl wrap Béatrice had insisted she wear to help conceal the fact that the dress was exposing her shoulders and much of her upper back. After putting it on, she realized it wouldn't do much good as it was sheer, but she liked it, so she wore it anyway.

After Robert had taken pictures of the two of them in the back garden (as seemed to be required of fathers) they were off. Béatrice drove, making them promise to not drink the punch or any drinks that had already been opened, even if it was from someone they knew. Amicia just laughed, and the two of them swore off any drinks they were offered by anyone, _specifically_ guys.

Amicia and Sophie ran through the parking lot and made their way into the gym, walking over to Sabrina’s group. It was packed, some A-ha song playing from the speakers just a little too loud. Tinfoil stars decorated the ceiling and hung down on fishing lines, creating a tacky but dream-like look. Brightly colored streamers were everywhere, along with balloons in their school colors. It felt almost like a fever dream.

But the most fever dreamy part was when Mélie walked past with her brother. Amicia tried not to stare, but she definitely stared. Mélie was wearing a teal pantsuit with lightly padded shoulders, her hair parted and fluffed so that it was slightly fuller at the top. The rest was hanging in loose, just past chin-length curls. Amicia watched as Arthur and Mélie stopped by the refreshment table, Arthur getting himself and his sister a drink. Now that Mélie was leaning against the table, facing Amicia's general direction, she could see Mélie was wearing a white t-shirt under the pantsuit. It was slightly wrinkled, but of course it was. Amicia risked looking up at her face (terrified of possibly making eye contact but luckily managing to avoid it). Her eyeshadow and eyeliner were dark, and everything looked just so... Mélie. But in a really good way that made her stomach twist. 

“Dare one of you guys to go dance with her,” Sabrina hissed, bursting into a fit of giggles that slowly devolved into cackling. Everyone laughed along but agreed she’d probably kill them.

“I’ll do it,” Amicia murmured. When everyone turned to look at her, surprised, she added quickly, “As like a dare, right? See if she’s actually a dyke?”

Sabrina’s face was unidentifiable, and then it turned into a smirk of pride and amusement. “I think Amicia has a good idea.”

“Go,” Christophe pushed her in Mélie’s general direction before Amicia could think it through. 

“We will stop her if she tries to put a spell on you,” Sophie promised, giving her arm a squeeze. “Be safe.” 

Amicia nodded and swallowed, making her way over to Mélie and Arthur. Mélie was sipping from a red solo cup, tapping her foot along to the music, and laughing with Arthur. When Amicia approached, they both stopped midconversation and looked up at her strangely.

“Hi,” she squeaked. “Ahem,” Amicia cleared her throat. “Hi. Did you want to dance, Mélie?”

The look she gave Amicia was a lot. Confusion, annoyance, suspicion, and utter flabbergastation. Arthur wore a similar expression, although it was slightly more amused. 

She looked Amicia up and down (for a possible weapon?) before opening and then closing her mouth. Finally, she asked, “Why though?”

Amicia opened her mouth. “Erm, good question.” She tugged at the ribbon on her waistline, hoping to give her skin some air. It was hot. “I was just… you look nice… and I was eh…” 

Mélie handed her cup to her brother, laughing. “Alright, watching you have a stroke is painful. I’ll dance with you.”

Surprised she had agreed, Amicia allowed Mélie to just kind of drag her to the dance floor. They maintained distance, and it was just normal dancing. It was the same thing Amicia would do with Sabrina, Sophie, or literally _anyone_ else. Admittedly, in the two songs they danced, Mélie proved to be a much better and more relaxed dancer than both Sabrina, Sophie, and Amicia.

But then the upbeat songs changed to a slower one, and Amicia took a few steps forward, definitely passing the unspoken but very present personal space barrier. She waited to see if Mélie would back up, and when she didn't, she wrapped her arms around Mélie’s neck. Mélie looked down, surprised when Amicia pulled her in with only slight hesitation. This was part of the dare, right? Amicia couldn't remember.

Mélie’s hands hovered in the air around Amicia’s waist awkwardly, until Amicia murmured, “You can put them on me.” 

“Uh,” Mélie cleared her throat and looked around the room, her face going red, “Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

“Oh, so now you’re scared?” Amicia teased softly into Mélie’s ear. 

“No,” Mélie shook her head and her hair bounced softly, “but you are.” 

And normally, Amicia would be. But for whatever reason, with Mélie, she wasn’t. She was secure. And knowing Mélie could probably beat up most of the kids at the school definitely helped.

“Put your hands on my hips,” Amicia repeated. 

Mélie smirked. “If you want me to touch you so much, at least ask nicely.”

“Put your hands on my hips, _please_ , because you’re making this awkward,” Amicia said dryly, ignoring the part of Mélie’s comment about her wanting Mélie to touch her. 

“Fine.” 

So her hands went on her hips, and Amicia managed to shuffle even closer, their chests touching. Mélie was almost the opposite of the loose, comfortable dancer she was before, now stiff and taking shallow breaths. Amicia had managed to maintain a steady rhythm, even if her heart had not. 

They stayed like this for a song, and then another. And then another. After a while, Amicia’s head was resting on Mélie’s shoulder, her eyes shut. If she could just ignore everything and everyone else, this would be perfect.

In an attempt to block out the world, Amicia turned her head inward so that her forehead rested against Mélie’s neck. The spot quickly became warm, but Amicia pretended not to notice. But after another song, Mélie’s skin became so flushed and her breathing so shallow, that Amicia couldn't ignore it anymore.

“Are you okay?” Amicia pulled back slightly, her arms still wrapped around Mélie’s neck. 

Mélie swallowed, her eyes wide as she stared down at Amicia. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing with you,” Amicia smiled innocently. 

“Exactly,” Mélie murmured, her eyebrows now knit together in concern. She glanced around the room quickly, flushing deeper. "Why are you doing this? You'll get in trouble.” 

“No one cares,” Amicia reassured, looking around the room like Mélie had. 

Sure enough, her friends who had previously been watching had grown bored and were now dancing. They were occasionally glancing over, but it didn’t seem like a big deal. 

“But why?” Mélie’s breathing had calmed, but only slightly. 

“I want to dance with you.” Amicia looked up at her like it was obvious. “I like dancing.”

“Oh.” And with Amicia’s chest pressed against hers, she could feel Mélie’s chest rise as she took a deep breath, and fall as she exhaled. “When did you want to be done?”

“Did _you_ want to be done?” Amicia asked carefully.

“I don’t care,” Mélie whispered.

“Yeah, I could go all night.” 

Mélie raised an eyebrow and smirked. “There’s a joke I could make right about now.” 

Amicia laughed softly, not letting this one get to her as much. Her eyes flickered down to Mélie’s lips, sparking a strange, impetuous thought. A stupid, sinful one. She was full of those lately. 

But, despite knowing it was sinful, the idea lingered. What would it be like to kiss a girl? And not just any girl, but Mélie.

This thought was different from the ones prior to it. Before, all urges similar to this had been kindled by something snarky and facetious Mélie had said, or an image of girls she had seen. This time, it had entered her brain all on its own accord, without prompting. 

The action of glancing down at Mélie’s lips had lit a fiery warmth in her stomach and ignited a wildfire in her brain.

Desperate to put it out, Amicia reached out, cupping Mélie’s cheek with her hand. Mélie's breath hitched, her skin heating under Amicia’s touch. With the way the shimmering lights were hitting Mélie’s eyes and how Amicia could feel almost every inch of Mélie against her, Amicia forgot that it was a stupid, _sinful_ desire.

She looped her hand around the back of Mélie’s neck and pulled Mélie down to fill in some of the space that remained. Mélie was stiff and there was still about three inches between them, but Amicia could still feel Mélie’s breath on her lips. It was a different kind of fire. 

Mélie relaxed slightly and leaned down, and Amicia lifted her chin, succumbing to the smoke in her hazy brain and warmth burning in her stomach. There was still an inch. Mélie closed her eyes. Amicia closed her eyes as well and inhaled deeply.

Amicia lifted her lips an inch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched Footloose, and gosh darn, it was a good movie. I also really wanted Amicia's dress to look like Ariel's in the old Footloose.


End file.
